


Indirect Contact

by kettish



Series: Secondhand [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clandestine Research, Double Penetration with Toy and Penis, Dungeon Party, Exhibitionism, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Play, Sex Toys, The truly kinky part is when they talk about their feelings, Voyeurism, slight miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/pseuds/kettish
Summary: Qui-Gon can't forget the night he was overwhelmed by the sexual energy in the Living Force and asks Obi-Wan to help him feel that again. Obi-Wan finds a way.





	Indirect Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Beta-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, who is a wizard with words and editing! Once again, my writing wouldnt be half as comprehensible without you.

Qui-Gon strove above his lover, thrusting steadily as he panted in Obi-Wan’s ear. Obi-Wan moaned beneath him, struggling to reach up and lock his hands behind Qui-Gon’s neck and pulling him down into a searing kiss. Qui-Gon lost the battle he’d been fighting for the last ten minutes; the desperation and pleading in Obi-Wan’s kiss undid him, and he spasmed, pushing into Obi-Wan as far as he could go as he pulsed into Obi-Wan’s luscious ass.

 

“No, no nonono,” Obi-Wan groaned, and Qui-Gon pulled out as swiftly as he could without pain and dove down to take Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth. Obi-Wan’s distress over no longer being penetrated became delight at Qui-Gon’s experienced mouth and hands, and it was no time at all before he was filling Qui-Gon’s mouth with his seed. Qui-Gon slowed, using only the lightest suction to get Obi-Wan’s member clean, then let him go and pulled his fingers from Obi-Wan’s ass before reaching for a hand towel. He cleaned them both gently before pulling himself up the bed to land with a content sigh next to Obi-Wan, and then reached around Obi-Wan’s waist to pull him close to his chest.

 

“Gods that was nice,” Obi-Wan mumbled, burrowing forward and rubbing his cheek against Qui-Gon’s skin. Qui-Gon hummed, content, before Obi-Wan used the Force to pull a blanket up over their sweat-cooled bodies and they both drifted off to sleep.

 

And that was how things went between them for the first three months of their new relationship.

  
  
  


He loved it.

 

He was content. He was.

 

It wasn’t until Qui-Gon found himself staring hard at a very particular kind of ‘net site that he admitted to himself that while was happy with his love life...he did feel a bit of an itch. Metaphorically speaking. When he and Obi-Wan first came together, it had been due to circumstances beyond their control. It had been frightening and frustrating at first to realize how much of an effect his connection with the Living Force had taken on him; they had been accidentally booked at accommodations that were hosting a BDSM convention in the event enter, two levels below Obi-Wan’s and Qui-Gon’s rooms, and Qui-Gon had nearly gone out of his mind with sexual desire. 

 

It was an experience that he didn’t wish to be repeated. Except...he flashed back sometimes on the floating, warm sensation that he’d been thrust into, and how simple life had been for a few hours. Everything in him had reduced itself to a desire to touch and be touched in as many ways as possible. Masturbation had barely dented the arousal coming over him, and he had been desperate enough to try and get himself off quietly in bed while Obi-Wan slept next to him. 

 

And then, a miracle happened: Obi-Wan offered to help. Because Obi-Wan loved him. It had been enough for Qui-Gon to let himself go and ride the wanton tide of instead of drowning in it. 

 

Qui-Gon admitted to himself that it had been amazing, intense, and possibly the best sex of his life. 

 

He wanted to experience it again.

  
  
  


Qui-Gon was not the best diplomat in the order for his lightsaber skills, impressive though they were. After all, if he had to draw his lightsaber, he’d already lost control of the situation. His size was advantageous in some scenarios but a serious impediment in many others (political rulers could be so testy when they thought you were above them, and literally towering over them did not help).  His biggest strength in diplomacy wasn’t his experience even, useful as it was--he’d come into his calling a fresh Knight from Master Dooku, who had mostly taught classic ‘saber forms and history at the Temple. 

 

No. What made Qui-Gon an excellent diplomat was the fact that he was truly excellent at research and extremely dedicated to his mission-of-the-moment. 

 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were currently assigned to the Temple for Obi-Wan to fulfill a teaching rotation. All Knights were entered into the teaching roster for either teacher’s aides or the initiate classes, and it was a duty no-one was exempt from unless they were incommunicado in the field.

 

Poor Obi-Wan had been assigned Intermediate Lightsaber Katas and spent his entire day running around trying to correct the form of fifteen Initiates around age ten. It would have been considerably easier if Obi-Wan were perhaps a little less aesthetically pleasing, or if they wore uniforms during class instead of workout clothes, or even if it had been a less advanced class. However, he wasn’t, they didn’t, and it was. The combination of drop-dead gorgeous Obi-Wan in sweats and a thin white shirt and the amount of hands-on correction he was required to offer his students… Obi-Wan was very often tired and peevish when he came home, and Qui-Gon sympathized with how he usually wanted to be silent for some time. After he’d decompressed with a cup of tea and silence, he’d ask how Qui-Gon’s day had gone, signalling he was ready for conversation. After they’d caught up and had dinner and cleaned up, they either relaxed or worked on paperwork together at the table, and then they were off to bed.

 

This gave Qui-Gon plenty of time during the day work on his pet project: researching the sexual practices of those who had been at the convention. He had some Temple duties he maintained, generally working with the Keeper of the Crystals to invoice and catalogue arrivals and issuances of lightsaber crystals and components. But that was only two or three hours of work a day, and so one day he packed up his workspace, bid his goodbyes, and headed out of the Temple on public transport.

 

He had his ‘pad in his pocket, a weight that was going to wear through his tunics if he kept carrying it everywhere. He considered the pros and cons of purchasing one of the newer, folding models that were advertised on the transport door, and hadn’t made a decision by the time he got off. Dex’s Diner offered free holonet usage, provided you purchased a meal, and by coming here for lunch he could both see his friend, have a good meal, and do his research in privacy. It was a lovely bonus that Dex was a bit paranoid about government oversight, and as such had both jammers in certain booths (excellent when you needed to have a secure conversation) and trace-proof ‘net units (excellent when you need to research the kind of sex the Temple would send you to Soul Healers for considering).

 

He ordered, greeting his friend with their customary too-tight embrace, then dropped into the booth he almost always claimed. The wait-droid was always testy, but if asked politely would bring over good ale and the daily special with a minimal display of temper. Qui-Gon ate ground nerf in a cream sauce over thick noodles before setting it aside, taking a deep swallow of his ale, and powering up his ‘pad.

 

A few minutes later he’d logged on under Dex’s system and was poring over the more reputable pages he could find. There was a lot of information that overlapped uncomfortably with Jedi Interrogation Recovery training, but Qui-Gon had never seen someone who was having their feet caned and also sporting an impressive erection before. The idea of that kind of pain made him uncomfortable, so he frowned down at the screen and scrolled on.

 

There were different sections of each site that usually talked about the different kinds of pain-play participants could enjoy. Qui-Gon noted they seemed to be roughly divided into objects that created deep bruising pain and sharp surface pain. Some items seemed to cause both, like the whips Obi-Wan had mentioned seeing, and Qui-Gon tried to conflate the ideas of either sensation with arousal.

 

He couldn’t. His brow furrowed and he left that page to try a different one. The next page, he skipped the information describing different beating devices and went instead to the page titled “aftercare.” The instructions on that page were very similar to how he and Obi-Wan had handled things after the events at the convention, he noted with surprise. He was gratified to have such a caring lover.

 

Still, that didn’t tell him what exactly had flavored the Living Force so powerfully that night! Frustrated, he looked at the page header and saw a “Frequently Asked Questions” subsection. He tapped it and gave it a look.

 

“Why do you do this?” was written several questions-and-answers down. “Isn’t it wrong? What’s the appeal?”

 

“We do what we do for several reasons,” was the answer, “many of which are psychological--we enjoy the sensation of giving ourselves over fully to a Dom, or of being trusted and able to push our sub to their limits. Some of our reasons are physical: our bodies are uniquely able to take pain and deliver a rush of endorphins that puts us into ‘sub space,’ a powerful and vulnerable state of being. But mostly, we do it because it’s fun, and as long as all parties involved are aware, the activity involved is safe, and there’s no lasting harm, who cares?”

 

Endorphins. That would definitely have amped up the sexual desire in the Living Force, and would explain his exquisite postcoital experience. Additionally, he had deeply enjoyed letting go and letting Obi-Wan be the one in charge.  _ So this is part of my answer, _ he thought, and tapped his screen to check another page.  _ Let’s see now what needs to be done to recreate that state of being. _

 

Another ale later, and an order of fried tubers that Dex sent to his table with a wave and a yelled “eat somethin’, ya walkin’ stick,” Qui-Gon was frustrated. He crunched a sliced tuber, pushing his ‘pad away and leaning back to think. All the sites he’d been able to find in the last hour or so seemed to point to pain play being the only route to “sub space.” Qui-Gon was not excited by pain, but he was very interested in attaining the state he had previously, including his submission to Obi-Wan. 

 

_ Well, it is only pain, _ he considered, finishing the tubers and wiping his hands on his napkin.  _ I have endured it before and shall do so again, and this might yield very pleasant results. _

 

He got up, leaving his credits on the table as he always did so Dex couldn’t refuse payment, and waved his farewell as he went. It was a short public transport ride back to the Temple again and the rest of his day went as it had the last few tens as he digested what he’d learned.

  
  


Obi-Wan dragged his sorry ass back to their apartments, done in. The amount of shielding he had to do all day around the initiates was remarkable, considering they had only just begun to hit puberty. If he didn’t shield he spent all day in various shades of awkwardness and emotional discomfort.

 

At least it wasn’t the Advanced class, which was comprised of young teens. He shuddered at the thought. His intermediate classes were still young enough that he could redirect them with a distracting story or bit of information or a snapped correction.

 

He finally reached his front door and pressed his palm to the lock, then made his way inside to lean heavily against the wall and remove his boots. He’d foregone his cloak since they weren’t in uniform, although decided he’d wear it anyway starting tomorrow. At least he’d be more comfortable in a position of authority than he was while wearing workout clothes. He shuffled into the kitchenette, stopping in the doorway to stare morosely at the table.

 

Qui-Gon wasn’t waiting at the table with a cup of tea like he usually was. This was the third day in a row now that he’d gotten home and Qui-Gon hadn’t even greeted him. Obi-Wan knew he was home; their training bond may have been dissolved, but they’d replaced it with a pair bond almost immediately afterwards, and it was all the stronger for it. Lately Qui-Gon had taken to shielding himself from Obi-Wan, though, so all Obi-Wan could currently sense was that Qui-Gon was preoccupied and in the living room. 

 

Obi-Wan sighed quietly, shoulders dropping in disappointment, and went to the counter to make his own tea. He didn’t make a cup for Qui-Gon, as he had the last two days. Qui-Gon had drunk it but then wandered off again, claiming he had a few chores to take care of, and Obi-Wan was not in the mood for it tonight.

 

At least dinner was taken care of, Obi-Wan thought, pulling leftovers out of the refrigeration unit. Qui-Gon had picked up food from Dex’s the last few days in a row as he was out doing whatever the man did in his spare time on Coruscant. Obi-Wan would have bet it involved the Temple gardens or the paper bookseller Qui-Gon favored, except no new installations appeared in the meditation garden outside and no new books showed up at home.

 

Qui-Gon hadn’t even gone to bed with him. Obi-Wan had fallen asleep alone and woken up to Qui-Gon asleep beside him, not due to wake for several hours. 

 

Not bothering to heat his food, Obi-Wan sat with his evening tea and the cold food and ate. The food went on the fork and into his mouth, was chewed and swallowed, but Obi-Wan didn’t taste much. Something was bothering Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon wasn’t sharing it with Obi-Wan as he usually did.

 

Obi-Wan had put off thinking about it, hoping it was some minor theological point or issue with another Jedi that Qui-Gon just needed time and meditation to work through before he’d share it with Obi-Wan. More and more, though, it was looking like Obi-Wan might be the issue. They used to share their everyday dealings with each other, relishing the opportunity to talk to each other and valuing the other’s opinions. Even if Qui-Gon wasn’t always ready to talk about what was weighing on him, he was always surprised and gratified when Obi-Wan offered comfort regardless. Obi-Wan worried that maybe he wasn’t enough for his former Master, that perhaps his youth was a bit too much for Qui-Gon to bother with and that the master had tired of dealing with him.

 

They had come together under less than ideal circumstances, after all. Perhaps the shininess of having an eager young man mooning over him had worn off and left him simply tired of Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan firmly pushed those thoughts aside and finished what he wanted to eat, stowing part of it back in the unit for breakfast in the morning. Most mornings he preferred to eat something hot, but lately he’d been so tired he wanted every moment of shut-eye he could get. If Qui-Gon had a problem with him, he’d let him know when he was ready; his Master had always been forthcoming about their training relationship. Obi-Wan had to have faith that their romantic relationship would get the same consideration.

  
  


Qui-Gon was folding some of his own freshly laundered clothing when Obi-Wan came into the living room and stopped by the couch to press a kiss to Qui-Gon’s crown. Qui-Gon looked up in surprise, but his face softened a moment later and he put aside his tunic to kiss Obi-Wan properly. Qui-Gon was surprised when Obi-Wan leaned into it and the kiss grew more heated than he’d anticipated, but Obi-Wan let him go after a moment and simply pressed close. Qui-Gon listened to Obi-Wan’s heart beat in his chest as he wound his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and heaved a sigh.

 

“I love you,” Obi-Wan murmured. Another kiss touched gently against the top of Qui-Gon’s head. Qui-Gon’s arms tightened as he closed his eyes.

 

“I love you too,” he replied, relaxing against Obi-Wan for the first time in days. Qui-Gon had been distracted by his current puzzle, and realized he’d neglected Obi-Wan badly. He’d have to remedy that. “Let’s go to bed after I finish this and you’ve cleaned up. I’ve missed holding you close as we go to sleep.” 

 

Obi-Wan seemed to slump in--relief? Qui-Gon was puzzled, and squeezed his partner tightly again. Obi-Wan cradled him close and let go a trembling sigh.

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Obi-Wan agreed. Qui-Gon was alarmed to hear a minor tremor in the man’s voice, and he leaned his head up awkwardly to study Obi-Wan with concern. Obi-Wan tried to pull Qui-Gon back against his body, but Qui-Gon had already seen the moisture in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

 

“Love,” Qui-Gon said, heart breaking, “what’s wrong?” Obi-Wan’s chest shook once as he caught a sob before it could escape him and then Obi-Wan breathed out harshly, attempting to dispel his upset.

 

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan tried to reassure Qui-Gon. “I’ve just missed you, Qui. We’ve both been very busy.” But Qui-Gon had known this man in his formative years, had watched as he learned how to cope with sadness and anger and pain, and simply looked at Obi-Wan expectantly. Obi-Wan sighed and kissed the top of Qui-Gon’s head once more before letting go and gesturing to the bedroom.

 

“Come on, then,” Obi-Wan said tiredly. “I need to get ready for the morning, and it’s easier to talk when I’m busy anyway.” Qui-Gon nodded cautiously and pushed his tea cup further from the edge before following him out of the room. Obi-Wan set to stripping out of his work clothes and tossing them into the receptacle and laid out a full uniform as he spoke.

 

“You...I just wondered if maybe you had changed your mind about me,” Obi-Wan said, straightening a fold in his undertunic. It was part of their uniform that wasn’t even visible when worn, Qui-Gon noted with the part of his brain that was busy trying to comprehend what Obi-Wan had said. Silence stretched out between them and Qui-Gon stood there helplessly, horrified that Obi-Wan was doubting his affection. He didn’t know what to say, how to assure Obi-Wan that he had it completely wrong. Qui-Gon’s chest felt like there were iron bands constricting it and his throat was tight and hot.

 

Obi-Wan had paused, and now started rooting through a drawer for socks and underclothes, business-like but with jerky movements. He gathered his things up and set them on his pillow, then picked up the whole bundle and went to where Qui-Gon still stood, gaping, by the door.

 

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I know you value our working relationship, and I love you still. Just...let me know if I need to find a new apartment. I’ll put my name into the quartermaster.” There was such pain in his words. Qui-Gon’s eyes shut against it instinctively and he gasped in a deep breath and felt tears spill over over onto his cheeks.

 

“Don’t go,” he begged, embracing Obi-Wan and pulling him close. “Please. Please don’t go. That’s not it at all, Obi-Wan. I’ve been foolish; please let me explain.” Obi-Wan had melted into him initially but Qui-Gon felt his back stiffen and Obi-Wan pulled back roughly.

 

“What do you mean, you’ve been foolish,” Obi-Wan demanded. “Qui-Gon Jinn, what in the Force’s name have you done?” 

 

_ Oh little gods, _ Qui-Gon thought with rising panic.  _ He thinks I cheated on him. I can see the headlines now--”Galactic diplomat extraordinaire murdered in his home, sources confirm they had to consult genetic profile to identify remains.”  _

 

“Obi-Wan, no, that’s not what I was implying!” he plead. “Listen, Obi-love, I just meant I have had something on my mind and rather than speak with you about it, as I ought, I shut myself off from you.” Obi-Wan stared him down, chin jutted out belligerently, and then Obi-Wan closed his eyes and visibly calmed himself. Qui-Gon was nearly knocked back on his heels by the amount of anger and betrayal and desolation that Obi-Wan released into the Force.

 

“OK,” Obi-Wan said, calmer, and let out an unsteady breath. “All right. We need to sit down and talk. I can call off class in the morning if need be, but we need to iron this out now.” Qui-Gon reached out to touch Obi-Wan’s arm, an inquiry, and Obi-Wan put his hand over Qui-Gon’s in answer. Then Obi-Wan lifted Qui-Gon’s hand and kissed it meaningfully and looked up at Qui-Gon, determined.

 

“I need a moment,” Obi-Wan said. “If you like, scare up a biscuit or two and a cup of tea and we’ll sit down.” Qui-Gon squeezed his hand and left him to it.

 

Qui-Gon had thought that the time dilation effect dread could engender was a thing of his past; he learned that fifteen minutes could still feel like three hours, even when you were going grey and had old injuries that ached when it rained. The tea had boiled, steeped and was set in their favorite mugs on the small lacquered tray they kept for formal ceremonies, along with a couple of Obi-Wan’s favorite biscuits and a slice of seed-bread with good butter for Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had placed it on the low table they had placed by the door so they could eat or relax and watch the sky, sat down, and waited. 

 

The tea cooled, growing less palatable by the minute. The sun finished setting and the sky darkened to just above ‘dim;’ it was never truly dark on Coruscant, and though Qui-Gon preferred the open stars and brush of unsettled worlds, he could allow that the city-world still had its own aesthetic appeal. Lights danced and followed along lines of sky lanes, and he fell into quiet meditation. 

 

The touch of his love’s hand to his shoulder startled him out of his contemplation, and he turned surprised eyes to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked down at him with tired but affectionate eyes and gave a shy smile.

 

“Sit down, love,” Qui-Gon said. “Let me tell you what’s been keeping my attention.” He handed Obi-Wan his now-cool cup of tea and waited for for him to settle onto the floor.

 

“You remember the first night we were together,” Qui-Gon began, “when the Living Force was drenched with the desire and energies of those attending the convention downstairs.”

 

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Obi-Wan deadpanned. Qui-Gon gave him a quelling look and received a small grin in return. The joke was terrible, of course, but the smile directed at him made Qui-Gon’s heart skip a beat before he continued on.

 

“It was a very...unique experience from my point of view. Everything was more intense, and I felt like I could let go and be as wanton as I wanted without consideration for my dignity. And afterwards, there was a sense of euphoria that I’ve never experienced post-coitally before.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded along. This all sounded very familiar and aligned with what he’d observed. Qui-Gon steeled himself for the next part and took a calming breath.

 

“I find...I find I cannot let that experience go,” he admitted, staring moodily at his tea. He had yet to take a sip, and found he really didn’t want to; cold tea could be delightful on a hot day, but he felt cold inside already, and wished it was hot enough to warm him. “I have meditated for weeks on the matter, and finally decided to do further research; I discovered that those sensations are the aftereffects of sufficient amounts of pain applied in a specific manner.” 

 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at him momentarily, then nodded his head slowly for Qui-Gon to continue.

 

“I cannot...I am not aroused by the thought,” Qui-Gon admitted. “However, I greatly enjoyed that night, and would like to experience something like that again. I have been wrestling with whether or not I should bring it up to you.” 

 

Finished, Qui-Gon carefully lifted his mug and sipped a little. Obi-Wan absorbed and processed the information he’d been given carefully, and then set his mug down.

 

“What frightens you about telling me this?” Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon frowned, a light flush pinking his face, and he thumbed the edge of his mug.

 

“We came together under unforeseeable circumstances,” Qui-Gon replied. “And I am already unsuitable for you by most measures: too old, too much your senior, too much your former master. The Order has used me well and what’s left is reduced by our every mission. I suppose I thought this would be one more thing: too strange. That my tastes would be too much for your liking. I’ve certainly surprised myself with them.” Obi-Wan’s face had now taken a strange look, and Qui-Gon realized sourly that his lover was trying not to laugh.

 

“I’m glad that it’s at least amusing,” Qui-Gon muttered, taking another sip of his tea to hide the twist of displeasure on his lips. Obi-Wan’s amusement vanished and was replaced by tender affection.

 

“My Master,” Obi-Wan said fondly, getting up and sitting back down next to Qui-Gon so that Obi-Wan’s side pressed up against Qui-Gon’s. “You could never be too strange. And in complete honesty, play like what they had at the convention is something I’ve experimented with before with other partners.”

 

Qui-Gon reared back to look down at Obi-Wan, scandalized. 

 

“You’ve done what?” he asked, and was immediately embarrassed by how his voice scaled high with disbelief. He cleared his throat and finished his tea, eyes trained on his lover in fascination. Obi-Wan looked highly amused by the entire situation all of a sudden.

 

“You utter nut. I’ve done that before. It’s fun, but not something I’ve ever needed on a regular basis like--uh, others,” he finished cagily. Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed. 

 

“Knight Tachi?” Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped.

 

“What? No!” he said. “Little gods, Qui-Gon, she’d have snatched back the flogger and used it on my balls!” Qui-Gon couldn’t hold back a guffaw at the mental image, then tried again.

 

“Pilot-Candidate Muln, then.” Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, eyeing Qui-Gon.

 

“Also negative,” he said. “How many of my partners were you aware of, exactly?” Qui-Gon had the decency to look a little sheepish, though recalcitrance was the primary expression on his face.

 

“You were my padawan,” he argued, “it was my job to know what and who you were up to, so I could steer you from inappropriate choices like diplomats looking to use you as blackmail or knights who ought to know better.” Obi-Wan snorted. 

 

“Good thing you were terrible at that part of your job, then,” he teased. Qui-Gon looked alarmed.

 

“Who did I miss?” he demanded. Obi-Wan grinned.

 

“Can’t say, darling,” he said sang tauntingly and leaned into Qui-Gon’s side. “But he was the one I played these sort of games with, and he taught me well.” Obi-Wan remembered those encounters fondly and rubbed his face against Qui-Gon’s shoulder with a contented noise as he did.

 

“Knight Vos?” Qui-Gon roared, grabbing the edges of the low table so hard his fingers went white, and Obi-Wan froze stock-still. 

 

“Force’s sake,” he complained, draping himself across Qui-Gon with an exasperated groan. “It was before you and I were together, and honestly, how rude of you to listen so intently like that!” Qui-Gon was still trying to dent the table with his hands and growling dire threats about Quinlan Vos, who must surely be receiving a warning about his impending dismemberment through the Force.

 

_ Both the warning and the dismemberment, _ Qui-Gon thought darkly.  _ The Force could be used for both. _

 

“He was a Knight long before you were, and he  _ slept with my Padawan _ ,” Qui-Gon snarled. Obi-Wan did not look impressed.

 

“And yet, here I am, undamaged, whole, Knighted, and at your side,” Obi-Wan pointed out. Qui-Gon grumbled, huffing and muttering, and Obi-Wan luxuriated in the relief and cleared air between them.

 

“Qui, come here and kiss me,” Obi-Wan said, tugging at Qui-Gon’s hair gently. Qui-Gon seemed confused but willing and bent down to exchange a luxurious, languid kiss. It ended gently and Qui-Gon withdrew slightly to nuzzle Obi-Wan’s forehead.

 

“I was so afraid I was about to lose you,” Obi-Wan breathed in relief, closing his eyes against the tears that reasserted themselves. It felt like Qui-Gon’s lips were brushing hot against the memory centers of his mind in a sensation he’d remember for the rest of his life. 

 

“Never, love,” Qui-Gon assured in a voice so low it rumbled against Obi-Wan’s ear. “I will ever be at your side.” They held each other for a long time, swapping kisses and reassuring caresses, before retreating to bed to sleep. It was the ending they both needed to such an emotionally trying evening.

  
  


Another few days went by as both men worked to reassure each other of their relationship’s permanence. Obi-Wan tried to stay up a little later in the evenings with Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon did his best to come to bed with Obi-Wan each night. They made love slowly on the night before Obi-Wan’s rest day, relishing the connection between them, and then lay together in glorious nudity.

 

“I don’t need all that nonsense,” Qui-Gon decided, drowsing against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “This is all I need.” Obi-Wan grunted sleepily.

 

“I think I still have some things in my closet if you change your mind,” he mentioned before falling asleep. Qui-Gon lay curled up against him for a long time after.

  
  
  


At the end of his teaching rotation, Obi-Wan was allotted a week off to recover his field mission mindset. Qui-Gon hadn’t reverted to his emotional distance from before, but Obi-Wan could tell he was still thinking things over in his free time. They had sex several more times, mostly on Obi-Wan’s few off days, but each time Qui-Gon seemed to be grasping desperately for something he couldn’t reach. They still enjoyed themselves, but Obi-Wan would look at Qui-Gon even a few hours later and could see he was still keyed up.

 

It wasn’t a surprise, therefore, when he came home from turning in his final grades and found Qui-Gon kneeling in the entryway in a formal supplicant’s position. It was surreal, seeing this man on his knees, palms to the floor and forehead bowed. Obi-Wan stepped inside carefully and hung up his robe before removing his boots without saying a word.

 

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said when he was done, acknowledging his lover.

 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon answered evenly. “Obi-love. I think you know what I would ask you to do.” He straightened up some, and as his hair moved with him, there was revealed a riding crop and long paddle on the floor before him. Obi-Wan looked down at him thoughtfully, loosening his sash to remove his outer garments as he always did when he got home.

 

“You need to tell me exactly what you want,” Obi-Wan said. “This isn’t something you speak in general terms about; you could get hurt if I misunderstand.” Qui-Gon bowed in deference before speaking again.

 

“I’d like you to use these on me in order to recreate how I felt in the Force the first night we were together,” Qui-Gon petitioned. Obi-Wan nodded approvingly this time, and Qui-Gon’s mouth relaxed into a small smile before Obi-Wan answered firmly.

 

“No.” Qui-Gon stared at him, his brow furrowing in confusion.

 

“Pardon me?” Qui-Gon asked, wondering if he’d misunderstood. Obi-Wan looked amused.

 

“No, Qui,” he repeated. Qui-Gon felt anger stir in his chest and damped it down carefully.

 

“Why not?” he asked.

 

“Because you don’t want me to,” Obi-Wan told him. “You want the rush from the combined force of a hundred people doing this that evening. This won’t give you that, and you won’t enjoy it.” 

 

“I know what I want,” Qui-Gon argued heatedly, coming up his kneeling position to tower over Obi-Wan. 

 

“You’d think,” Obi-Wan said, his mouth squirming as he tried desperately not to laugh even a little; Qui-Gon could get very testy in these moods, and he rather wanted to spend at least a little time with him before they were put back on mission rotations. Besides, this was actually a rather delicate sort of negotiation, and Obi-Wan wanted to do right by Qui-Gon.

 

“Qui, my darling,” he said suddenly, interrupting the storm that was brewing on Qui-Gon’s face, “you want that rush. You want that intensity. Correct?” Qui-Gon glowered, not pacified but willing to hear Obi-Wan out.

 

“Correct,” he said shortly.

 

“And you would accept that result even if there was no pain involved first? Would prefer it, unless I miss my guess?”

 

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said impatiently. Obi-Wan nodded serenely.

 

“Then, I have an idea,” Obi-Wan said. “Will you try it with me before we resort to something more traditional?”

 

“All right,” Qui-Gon agreed warily. Obi-Wan nodded again, decisive, and continued to undress.

 

“Go get some civilian clothes on,” Obi-Wan instructed. “Something you could go to a club in without calling attention to yourself, please, unless you’d like to stick out. Black, if you have it.”

 

Qui-Gon was left standing in the entryway, staring at his partner, wondering what in seven hells he’d just agreed to.

  
  


They left the Temple an hour later, taking a private transport for once at Obi-Wan’s suggestion. Obi-Wan gave the driver the name of an intersection to take them to, and the rest of the ride was spent in quiet. Obi-Wan seemed relaxed and confident in that easy way of his, while Qui-Gon had to still his fidgeting by lacing his fingers together and setting them into his lap. Obi-Wan gave him an amused look but said nothing, for which Qui-Gon was grateful; he wasn’t sure he could go through with whatever Obi-Wan had in mind if Qui-Gon was irritated with him.

 

The paid and exited the vehicle, then Obi-Wan reached over to casually snag Qui-Gon’s shirt and tug him along the street. Qui-Gon breathed out his irritation at the blatant manhandling, and Obi-Wan stopped suddenly.

 

“You said you enjoyed me being in charge,” Obi-Wan reminded him. Qui-Gon looked down at him, remembering that he had, and then nodded gratefully. “All right. Try and remember that, please, starting now. If you need to stop, say ‘solah,’ and we’ll end play.”

 

“Understood,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan tugged his shirt again, urging Qui-Gon to follow him. Qui-Gon followed easily this time, and Obi-Wan led him along a side road.

 

“No looking around from here forward until we hit the front door,” Obi-Wan ordered, and Qui-Gon nodded. “Let me know you heard and understood, Qui. No need to call me  ser unless you want to, but I need to know you’re present enough to take instruction.”

 

“Yes, master,” Qui-Gon said after a moment to think, and he watched, fascinated, as Obi-Wan shuddered just once.

 

“That will do nicely,” Obi-Wan informed him, and his voice was lower than usual. Had he been the dominant in he and Vos’ games, Qui-Gon wondered, or had he been in Qui-Gon’s shoes? Qui-Gon hadn’t thought to ask, but he decided that perhaps he had his answer. “Call me master, and I’ll call you whatever I wish. Understood?”

 

“Yes, master,” Qui-Gon rumbled for effect. Obi-Wan managed to suppress his shudder this time by dint of will and Qui-Gon kept his eyes on him as they went. Obi-Wan’s usual rolling stride was less cocky than usual, Qui-Gon noted, steadier and less prone to excessive movement. His hand on Qui-Gon’s shirt was firm but nonchalant, as though he led Jedi Masters around by their shirt fronts on a daily basis and was inured to its strangeness. 

 

They came to a building with a dark red door. It was a particular shade that was both singular and subtle, and gave Qui-Gon his first real clue as to what they were doing. Obi-Wan entered a code onto the lock pad and they stepped in, and then spoke with an exceptionally large Wookiee who rumbled at them in assent before stepping aside. 

 

The hallway opened into a large room, luxuriant plush carpet a tasteful wine shade and walls a clean creme in color. There tables and booths with thick cushioning arched widely across a corner of the room, seating for perhaps ten or twelve groups total, and a few patrons sat and sipped their drinks and chatted. Another large portion of the room was devoted to seating where Qui-Gon presumed food was not allowed--or encouraged, anyway; he had a feeling this was a very upper-class club, and that patrons could do essentially as they wished, within reason. 

 

The other full half of the room was open to a low stage, only two steps up from the floor in height but curving forward into the room so that anyone could see the set-up in the middle from anywhere in the room. A bench took center stage, with bars at several heights and eyeholes in strategic locations, and behind and to the side a table with what Qui-Gon assumed was an assortment of implements. Around the sides of the room it looked as though there were eyelets in the walls and metal wires hanging from the ceiling, presumably well-anchored, and very few places there was another, smaller table with implements similar to on-stage.

 

There was a young woman currently strapped to the bench, face down on it with her ass perched at the end for easy access, and another young woman struck her with a cane in precise, rhythmic blows. The submissive’s cries were muffled by the bench seat but it was impossible to mistake the way she was shoving her ass back out after each blow, her body language begging for more.

 

“You seem surprised,” Obi-Wan grinned, obviously delighted at having the upper hand for once. Qui-Gon nodded, dazed, and Obi-Wan pinched his ass playfully in reminder.

 

“I am, master,” Qui-Gon corrected himself, bowing slightly. Obi-Wan’s eyes grew smoky, dark, and his grin widened into a toothy leer.

 

“Go find a place to sit. A booth where you can see the proceedings,” Obi-Wan instructed with a proprietary smack to Qui-Gon’s ass. “I’ll be along shortly. Wait there.” Qui-Gon acknowledged correctly and went, selecting a table towards the back and side of the seating area, where they could see the stage even if the other tables were all seated. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan go speak with someone at a different door than the one they’d entered,then watched him hand over credit chits while gesturing at Qui-Gon. 

 

Qui-Gon felt a moment of uncertainty then. What in the name of the Force had he let himself in for? He stared moodily down at the table top and considered his options. 

 

Then he snorted, remembering he liked Obi-Wan taking charge. He wanted that again. Obi-Wan wouldn’t abuse his trust and had asked for his agreement for every new rule along the line. Qui-Gon found himself nodding at the table and looked up resolutely to find Obi-Wan standing just outside his notice, watching Qui-Gon fondly.

 

Now that Qui-Gon had seen him, Obi-Wan walked over and sat down beside him.

 

“All right, love?” he asked in a murmur. Obi-Wan’s hand found Qui-Gon’s, holding it firmly, and Qui-Gon squeezed it back.

 

“Yes, master,” he answered. Obi-Wan’s smile was like the dawn on Calamari: brilliant light reflecting off water, too bright to look at but too beautiful to look away. He looked proud of Qui-Gon, and genuinely happy to be there with him, and it gave Qui-Gon courage.

 

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan said with another grin. “Listen closely, my apprentice. In the art of pain and the pleasure that may accompany it, there are certain requirements--conditions that have to be met before most can enjoy themselves in this manner.

 

“First, last, foremost: there must be trust. The dominant player must trust the submissive to acknowledge their own limits, and to do as they’re asked so that the dom may do their part. And the submissive must trust the dominant to respect those limits, and to bring them as close to them as possible, in order to have the most satisfying experience. 

 

“For some, this means trusting the dominant past when they might choose to stop on their own,” Obi-Wan explained. “For others, that means trusting the dominant to stop when the submissive would ask them to continue. In yet other cases, it means respecting the dominant if they choose to end the game prematurely, whether it’s for the dominant’s or submissive’s best interest. 

 

“And in some, it means not starting the game at all,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon looked at him, startled.

 

“I thought you brought me here for this,” Qui-Gon protested, and Obi-Wan tsked.

 

“I told you I had another idea,” Obi-Wan chastised. Qui-Gon frowned. “Sit and watch a while, Qui. The party is just beginning and there will be a lot of other players here this evening.”

 

“Yes master,” Qui-Gon ceded quietly, and turned to watch the female dominant turn the cane to the submissive’s bound, upturned feet. 

  
  


Obi-Wan declined the waitress’ offer of alcohol, but accepted water for both himself and Qui-Gon and a light snack of raw vegetables with an interestingly-textured dip. Qui-Gon couldn’t decide what it was about the dip that was so good, but something in it was just plain tasty. More patrons had begun to appear, dressed in leather, latex, black and wine and silver, and others in nearly nothing at all, and Qui-Gon wondered how they’d gotten here without being arrested.

 

“There’s a changing room off the front hallway,” Obi-Wan said in his ear when he asked; as more people arrived it had gotten louder in the club, and he had to be close to be heard. “Many patrons carry their fetish clothing in, then change when they arrive.”

 

Qui-Gon looked at a nearby seated couple, a dominant and submissive male, and eyed the submissive’s leather harness thoughtfully. Obi-Wan followed his line of sight and smiled widely.

 

“Oh, that can be arranged,” he said, pulling in a heavy breath and letting it out appreciatively. “Gods, that leather and the straps on your very nice chest? Oh yes.” Qui-Gon let his eyes fall closed to imagine it, and felt Obi-Wan’s fond amusement. Qui-Gon cracked an eye back open to look at him questioningly.

 

“There’s enough people here I think you may be noticing a difference now, love,” Obi-Wan said. “Take a look at yourself and reach out.”

 

Qui-Gon was startled to realize he was absently rubbing his hand over Obi-Wan’s thigh, kneading like a pleased lothcat. He was equally startled to recognize the itch he was attempting to scratch by doing so, and realization lit his eyes with wonder.

 

“You said there’s a big party tonight,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan’s grin morphed into a confident leer.

 

“And there are private rooms available for rent, as long as you arrive early.” The simple genius of Obi-Wan’s plan was as startling as it was gorgeous, and Qui-Gon grinned back happily before laughing and trying to dodge as Obi-Wan pinched his hip again.

 

“There’s a big party tonight, master,” he corrected himself gleefully, and then made a surprised noise as Obi-Wan dragged him down for a kiss with one hand in Qui-Gon’s hair while dragging Qui-Gon’s hand to Obi-Wan’s groin with his other. Obi-Wan was half hard already, and Qui-Gon felt him firm further as Obi-Wan kissed him deeply and encouraged Qui-Gon to knead his erection.

 

“Keep watching a while longer,” Obi-Wan ordered after they came back up for air. “I want you to reach out and feel the different flavors. When Vos and I were together we took turns, but I was the submissive more often than the dominant, and I can assure you that different tools create different reactions. Tell me what you observe.”

 

It was difficult to put aside his arousal now that he’d recognized it, but the rush of pride felt from Obi-Wan as he did so was more than enough to keep Qui-Gon on track. He examined a man being whipped with a riding crop, and the shallow stinging pleasure it created; he listened in to the cotton-wrapped, enveloping numbness of a woman being expertly hit with a quirt; one of the few non-human patrons, a Twilek, was having her lekku slapped with a leather strap that must have hurt dearly on the nerve-rich area. 

 

Qui-Gon detailed it all to Obi-Wan in a voice that grew steadily lower and needier as the evening progressed. The final straw for them both was when he felt the aftermath of a man having the muscle of his ass bitten hard after a paddling. Qui-Gon frantically used every mental trick he knew to ride out the feeling that flowed through the Force without orgasming.

 

“That’s enough,” Obi-Wan snapped roughly, and jerked Qui-Gon out of the booth. “Up. Follow.” Qui-Gon stumbled to obey and his desperate “yes, master” only blew the flames in Obi-Wan’s eyes hotter. Obi-Wan strode across the room past beings in all manner of pain and pleasure to the door he’d been at earlier, Qui-Gon walking awkwardly behind him with an erection he could have used to cut kyber.  At last they were admitted.

 

Back in this area, the itching need under his skin and in his bones was even stronger; it had seeped into the walls and floor, latent sexual desire that would have effected any Force-sensitive who stepped foot in here. Obi-Wan was still walking quickly, and for once Qui-Gon was the one having to work to keep up as they counted the doors down to their rented room. Obi-Wan slid the access card through the lock, watched the door open, then roughly shoved Qui-Gon inside.

 

“Strip!” Obi-Wan barked, and Qui-Gon could have come right then and there. He was lucky he didn’t; he wanted to see Obi-Wan truly in charge, no leeway or misunderstanding, and so he stripped his clothes off as quickly as he could. Obi-Wan had pulled off his shirt and thrown it into a chair near the door, and as soon as Qui-Gon was finished he tackled Qui-Gon to the bed. 

 

Qui-Gon felt his breath leave him in a single instant, and couldn’t bring himself to care; Obi-Wan was directing him to his knees, then Obi-Wan was standing above him, pulling his cock free of his trousers and pushing Qui-Gon’s face towards it. Qui-Gon opened his mouth and took the proffered cock, sucking hard in relief and desperation.

 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Obi-Wan groaned, and pulled Qui-Gon’s hair off to the side so he could watch. “Little gods, Qui-Gon. I have been listening to you for the last hour, you fucking tease--suck me now or I swear I’ll take you back out there for the rest of the night.” 

 

“Yes, master!” Qui-Gon cried quickly before going to work. Obi-Wan allowed Qui-Gon to use his mouth and hands on him for several minutes, groaning loudly in response, before he pulled Qui-Gon back off his cock by his hair.

 

“Fuck, look at you,” he panted, eyes dark and his arm trembling. Qui-Gon whined and tried to get back to Obi-Wan’s cock. “You want it so fucking bad. Force, Qui.”

 

“Please,” Qui-Gon said as he tugged against Obi-Wan’s grip on his hair, “please, master, please let me suck you, you can come wherever you want, in my mouth, on my face, in my ass, I don’t care, just please--”

 

“Stay right there, dammit,” Obi-Wan barked, gripping his cock and stroking himself quickly. “You are mine, Qui-Gon, and I’ll do what I please with you!” He smeared the head of his cock against Qui-Gon’s cheek, watching him trying to rub against it like a cat in heat, and then let Qui-Gon’s hair go so he could seal his mouth over Obi-Wan’s cock in time for him to come. Qui-Gon’s breathy noises as he swallowed and licked and tried to coax more out of Obi-Wan were intoxicating to the extreme; Obi-Wan hoped, in a distant, sober part of his mind, that he’d be able to guide the evening properly when faced with such a temptation.

 

Obi-Wan’s cock started to soften, and Qui-Gon whined impatiently as Obi-Wan lowered them both back down to the bed. A snap of his fingers was enough to get Qui-Gon’s attention again, and Obi-Wan thought maybe he should have felt threatened, or guilty, at the absolute laser focus he’d managed to get Qui-Gon to give him. Mostly, though, he was just horny, and finally had a clear enough head to enact the rest of his original plans.

 

“On the bed,” he ordered, and Qui-Gon hastily obeyed, legs and arms thrown out with alacrity, as directed. Obi-Wan pulled a set of familiar cuffs from his bag, previously stashed next to the crop and flogger Qui-Gon had presented him with earlier. They fastened comfortably to Qui-Gon’s wrists and ankles, and Obi-Wan toyed with the last piece where Qui-Gon could see him.

 

“Hm,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, twirling the leather collar for show. “Who might this belong to?” He stopped, peering down theatrically at the attached tag. “Property of OWK, it says.” He looked down at Qui-Gon and raised an eyebrow, inviting him to answer.

 

“Please,” Qui-Gon whispered. Obi-Wan stroked Qui-Gon's forearm where he was trembling and waited. “Please, master. Me, I am the property of Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan swallowed hard, clenching his jaw to keep from shouting triumphantly, and nodded. 

 

“Yes, you are,” he answered evenly as he could, and buckled the collar around Qui-Gon’s neck with a flourish. The click resounded loudly in the quiet room, and when the sound faded the tension feel away from Qui-Gon's limbs. He lay panting on the bed, still needy and aroused with his cock rampant and lying against his belly, but Obi-Wan could feel something receptive in his presence where before he had been grasping.

 

Qui-Gon looked amazing, and Obi-Wan couldn’t wait to start. He picked up a leather strap and snapped it tight around his own cock and balls while Qui-Gon looked dreamily curious.

 

“I’m not coming until I’m good and ready,” Obi-Wan explained ruefully. “And with you like this, that’s going to take more than just willpower.” Qui-Gon grinned at him, still relaxed against the bed, and waited for Obi-Wan to give him instructions.

 

“Alright, love,” Obi-Wan purred as he slipped onto the bed next to Qui-Gon. “Here’s the plan: you’re going to lie there while I suck you. You’re going to lie back and relax still while I open you up, little by little, and while I fill you up with a big, lovely, toy. And then I’m going to fuck you. You remember your word?”

 

“Yes, my master,” Qui-Gon replied silkily and stretched as much as he could for show. The muscles of his chest and abs flexed, then his thighs and calves, and Obi-Wan watched hungrily. Qui-Gon relaxed with a sigh, trying to reach to rub his face against Obi-Wan’s legs, and Obi-Wan indulged him with an open palm to nuzzle.

 

“Such a good boy,” Obi-Wan crooned, sliding a hand up to grip Qui-Gon’s hair firmly. “Such a wonderful man. No more now. Come if you wish; I have a feeling you have a few in you tonight.” 

 

Qui-Gon made a happy noise as Obi-Wan bit down on his shoulder with gentle teeth; Obi-Wan was being so good to him. This was what Qui-Gon had wanted and needed, and it was so sweet being able to give Obi-Wan this gift of compliance. He could feel Obi-Wan licking wetly against his nipple, and groaned as his chest tensed. 

 

“I could come from just this,” he breathed, and felt a spike of interest from Obi-Wan. 

 

“Really,” Obi-Wan said, excited at the prospect. He bit down softly on Qui-Gon’s pectoral, closer to the center of his chest, and Qui-Gon’s hips moved restlessly and the sensation. “Let’s see if that’s true, shall we?” 

 

Qui-Gon would later spend a generous amount of time researching how exactly the nerves between his nipples and his cock were linked, for at the moment they felt like each lick, nip, lip and suckle at his nipple was pulling some pleasurable string that led to his dick. Qui-Gon got progressively louder, aroused beyond words by the physical stimulation, but more importantly by how harsh Obi-Wan’s breathing was against his chest and how Obi-Wan was making little hitched movements against Qui-Gon’s thigh. 

 

The Living Force’s currents were thick and heady, like fog or incense, and clouded his mind like that one night not so long ago. Qui-Gon was able to give himself over to pleasure fully this time, no longer held back by fear of impropriety and protected by his Obi-Wan. It was safe to simply stop thinking beyond the moment, truly stop, and he reveled in the opportunity.

 

The pressure in his groin built and built, his balls pulling up tightly as he felt his cock swell even further than he’d thought possible to endure. Obi-Wan was busy pinching and massaging one nipple while worrying the other with his tongue, directing his touches to great effect. Qui-Gon felt the edge of his orgasm approach at a leisurely pace without the usual final rush to tip over; when he finally came, it was a rolling feeling from his calves to his cock and then up to where Obi-Wan had tormented him so perfectly. 

 

He was left gasping, drenched with sweat and dazed with pleasure, his eyes half-mast and his cock wet just at the tip where it rested in the cooling ejaculate on his belly.

 

“Force,” he said, and Obi-Wan laughed.

 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. “You look like you went ten rounds with a Gamorrean who was also a galaxy-class masseuse.” Qui-Gon giggled drunkenly at the mental image as Obi-Wan’s smile widened, and he pulled at his bound hands to try and reach down to rub his face against Obi-Wan. When that failed, Qui-Gon made an unhappy noise, then tried a hand and a leg hopefully. Obi-Wan moved away, thwarting him, and Qui-Gon would have sulked if he had more energy.

 

Obi-Wan checked with him then to see if he needed a drink (no), if his hands were tingling (he couldn’t tell; Obi-Wan felt them and checked how long it took the pink to come back in his fingernails after they were pressed before pronouncing him all right), and asked if he needed to use his word. Qui-Gon shook his head no as quickly as he could and looked at Obi-Wan with pleading eyes. Obi-Wan released his bonds despite Qui-Gon’s protests and looked him over.

 

“You aren’t talking much,” Obi-Wan noted. Qui-Gon shrugged, giving him a loopy smile, and Obi-Wan smiled back before lightly smacking Qui-Gon’s inner thigh. 

 

“Sorry,” Qui-Gon managed to whisper after concerted effort. Obi-Wan stroked Qui-Gon’s belly soothingly, spreading traces of semen, and then leaned down to kiss him. “Master.”

 

“Remember you can tap out if need be,” Obi-Wan reminded him, and Qui-Gon hummed agreeably. 

 

Obi-Wan went back to fingering Qui-Gon, efficient as he laid gentle soothing licks across Qui-Gon’s nipples in wide strokes. Qui-Gon squirmed away from his tongue initially, but relaxed into it after a few minutes and found there was pleasure even in how raw his chest now felt. Obi-Wan made sure to keep his tongue light on his lover’s skin, and when Qui-Gon no longer tried to worm away from his mouth he descended in miniscule increments.

 

The bottom edge of Qui-Gon’s chest was laved carefully as Obi-Wan examined the difference in texture between pectoral muscle and rib, wandering centrally to his sternum where he investigated the little dip where his ribs met. Qui-Gon bit back a laugh when Obi-Wan nipped along the edge of his bottom rib, following it down and to the side before making his way to Qui-Gon’s hip. Then Obi-Wan traced across and under Qui-Gon’s belly button, gently lifting his cock out of the way and licking up the semen that lay sticky on his skin before rounding back up to the other pectoral to repeat. 

 

Qui-Gon’s skin stopped translating these all as separate touches after some time had passed. He thought Obi-Wan had maybe two fingers in him by now, and was taking his Force-damned time, but his master’s will was immutable in this room and so he simply waited. Endless moments came and left him behind, Obi-Wan’s lips drawing swaths of warmth along his torso as Obi-Wan’s hand continued to prepare Qui-Gon where he would enter. This was right; this was good. Qui-Gon thought dizzily that Obi-Wan needed to be in him where he belonged before the night was done, and Obi-Wan chuckled when he said so out loud.

 

“You don’t want this beautiful toy, Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan murmured. “Look, it’s perfect--smooth and squishy, and just the right size, and it will feel so nice and cool inside you. You feel so warm here…” He pushed his fingers in with fascination.

 

“Want you,” Qui-Gon moaned, “please, Obi-Wan, master.”

 

“You want me, and I want you to have your toy,” Obi-Wan said, posing as though he was thinking deeply even as he pushed a third finger into Qui-Gon’s hole. “What to do? What a predicament, Qui.” He was leading Qui-Gon, hoping he’d come to a certain conclusion, and Qui-Gon didn’t understand why Obi-Wan wouldn’t just say it himself, but he was fairly sure what the man wanted.

 

“Both?” Qui-Gon asked, eyes hopeful and trusting. Obi-Wan looked down at him, suddenly serious again.

 

“We don’t have to,” Obi-Wan said softly. Qui-Gon frowned. “What’s the world, love? I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Solah, master,” Qui-Gon replied and stretched into a roll, keening impatiently when that pulled Obi-Wan’s fingers from him. “Please. I want both!” 

 

Reassured, Obi-Wan teased, “I’m not sure it will all fit, darling. Where am I going to put it all?” Qui-Gon pushed his ass up and pulled his knees under so that his head was still on the bed, and reached back to grip his buttocks and pry them wide apart. Obi-Wan made an appreciative noise and drew a desultory finger through the sweat on Qui-Gon’s back then down to rub gently over Qui-Gon’s hole. The pucker clenched at the light teasing sensation, Qui-Gon aching for more.

 

“Please, oh please,” Qui-Gon panted desperately.

 

“Oh, fine,” Obi-Wan relented and pushed three fingers deep into Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon gasped at the sudden intensity and then shoved his arms down under him so that he had leverage to push back against Obi-Wan’s fingers, and Obi-Wan smacked him sharply for the movement. He didn’t stop, though, so Qui-Gon continued, and then groaned when Obi-Wan added more cold lube and a fourth strong finger.

 

“You need to relax or it won’t all fit,” Obi-Wan said, using his free hand to smack Qui-Gon’s ass again warningly. “Stop pushing back and let me stretch you, or you’ll get nothing at all.” Qui-Gon pressed his face to the mattress obediently, trembling as Obi-Wan continued, using both thumbs to pull his hole wider before pushing in the toy. The dildo was longer than Obi-Wan’s fingers had been, but not thicker, and Qui-Gon breathed through the insertion, letting his need and anxiety match but not overwhelm the Force around him. Obi-Wan had been telling the truth about this little toy; it was made of a silicone jelly that compressed delightfully when he clenched down. 

 

A glacial age seemed to pass as Qui-Gon submitted to Obi-Wan’s talented hands. He knew that his sense of time was skewed, but he was content to pass this evening’s eternity like this: face down, ass up, his Obi-Wan helping him feel things he’d never felt before. He was distantly aware when Obi-Wan warned him that he was ready and began to shove into Qui-Gon’s hole alongside the toy; there was an incredible, exquisite stretch, and his world narrowed down to just the sensation of too-much-too-full-just-right that filled him. He didn’t hear himself wailing, crying out desperately for Obi-Wan to use him, please, take him hard, oh please don’t let this end--but he was aware when Obi-Wan fumbled to pull the strap off his own cock, and Qui-Gon reached back with the steady grip of the inebriated to unsnap it without looking. Pleasure compounded pleasure when Qui-Gon came, his hole suddenly holding only Obi-Wan’s cock as Qui-Gon sobbed and emptied himself onto the bedspread. Obi-Wan pounded into him then with such intensity that Qui-Gon gasped and spurted the little that was left in him only seconds before Obi-Wan shouted, gripping Qui-Gon’s hips painfully tight and flooding Qui-Gon with his semen.

 

Qui-Gon’s world skipped and stuttered, his balls trying to pull up tight in synchrony, and he gasped and gratefully passed out.

  
  


He awoke to Obi-Wan holding him close to his chest, whispering praise into Qui-Gon’s ear and wiping tears off Qui-Gon’s face with a hand towel. 

 

“So good, my love, you did so very well,” Obi-Wan said lovingly, and Qui-Gon crooned back wordlessly, curling up more tightly against Obi-Wan. “Oh, my darling, my dearheart. You were so brave. You were so beautiful.” 

 

Obi-Wan cleaned them up slowly, taking his time to make it a pleasure instead of a necessary chore before making Qui-Gon drink and eat a little. Qui-Gon found he was warm and content, tired like he had done a good day’s work, and also that he was unable to open his mouth to speak. Another time this would have alarmed him, but for now he was content to communicate with humming and other sleepy utterances.

 

Once Obi-Wan had seen to his comfort and checked him carefully for injury, he rolled the sheet up to reveal a clean one underneath, and they settled into the bed together. Obi-Wan called his ‘pad to his hand with the Force, lifting it from their bag carefully. Qui-Gon made a disapproving sound of the mildest variety at the frivolous gesture, and Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched into a smile.

 

“You must be coming back to yourself, then,” he observed, and Qui-Gon grunted peevishly and snuggled down under the covers to wrap himself around Obi-Wan’s lower half. “Alright, love. I’m going to read for a bit, Qui--drift off if you need to, and I’ll be here when you wake.” 

 

Thus reassured, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and was instantaneously asleep.

  
  
  


The next morning Qui-Gon still needed a bit of time to get up to speed. He finally managed to make the words, “Tea, please?” come out of his mouth when he smelled that Obi-Wan had some brewing, and Obi-Wan kissed him and grinned. 

 

“Welcome back,” he said affectionately. Qui-Gon smiled back blearily.

 

“Tea,” he grunted again, feeling weak, and Obi-Wan laughed and handed him an already prepared cup.

 

Obi-Wan continued to draw him into conversation as they ate their meal, the club outside silent in the Force as most of the patrons seemed to have gone home. They spoke only of nonsequential things and nothing of the night before, holding each other’s hand or lying close to each other as the morning passed by. Eventually they had to vacate the room, their time expired, and Obi-Wan neatly draped Qui-Gon’s robe over him and led him back out into the streets.

 

The noise and rush of traffic was like running into a brick wall, and Qui-Gon stopped, momentarily overwhelmed. Obi-Wan waited until he was ready and they continued back to the Temple, taking quiet back ways in deference to Qui-Gon’s sensitivity. 

 

Once ensconced in their (blessedly silent) apartments, Obi-Wan informed Qui-Gon that they’d be continuing the day as they began it, and they settled into their couch comfortably to sip tea and relax. Obi-Wan finally brought up the night before as Qui-Gon sipped at the last of his current cup.

 

“Was it what you wanted?” he asked, looking intently at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon smiled, taking a sip to hide the expression as he usually did.

 

“Better,” he replied, and drank down the dregs.


End file.
